


Touches You

by kaijuvenom



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, First Kiss, Getting Together, I want to elaborate on the Kira and Dukat dynamic, M/M, The Federation is inherently bastardous, bc cardassia never invaded bajor in this, because i think their hate for each other is hilarious, but i really loved this concept and the lore i created for it so, but in this theyre actively bastards, esp bc Kira has no reason to hate him so viscerally, i wanted Ziyal to be in this but it was already too long, who knows maybe ill make this a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: The hostile Federation was driven out of Terok Nor by their inability to successfully colonize Bajor and several Cardassian planets, and Starfleet officer Julian Bashir was forced to stay, exiled due to the truth of his genetically engineered past being found out and quickly censored by the government to avoid scandal. He now works as a plain, simple tailor on the station and is Commander Elim Garak’s favorite mystery, much to the chagrin of Captain Kira Nerys and Gul Dukat. Neither of them trust this alleged tailor, which must be saying something, because they’ve never agreed on a single thing.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	Touches You

Garak had always been a fan of mysteries, and there was no one on Terok Nor who was a bigger mystery than its single Human inhabitant. Julian Bashir was nothing but a walking enigma, one that Garak hoped to solve as soon as possible, or as slowly as possible, he was perfectly content with the trail of breadcrumbs they led each other on during their weekly lunches, the meaningful glances, and the occasional slips of the tongue that made them both take pause. So long as he could be sure he’d unravel the mystery eventually. 

It had been a spur of the moment decision on Garak’s part, to sit with Bashir at the Replimat for the first time, nearly a year ago at this point, done for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity. 

Garak hadn’t been on Terok Nor when the Federation had occupied it, he’d been part of an elite group of undercover Cardassians and Bajorans who staged the coup to rid Terok Nor of the Federation several years ago, and he’d decided to stay. Anything to get away from his father, even if it meant life on a cramped and rather claustrophobic space station. 

Based on what he’d heard from Gul Dukat and Captain Kira, the entire business with Bashir staying behind after the Federation pulled out had been kept in the depths of the shadows. There were, of course, the obvious speculations, that he was simply a spy, sent to keep tabs on Terok Nor, and some other, far more interesting ideas: that he’d defected, that he’d been exiled, he was hiding from something, he had a secret Cardassian lover whom he couldn’t bear to part with, the list went on. 

Whatever the reason, it was Garak’s top priority to find out. For the sake of no one but his own insatiable curiosity. 

“My dear tailor, how are you today?” Garak asked, announcing his presence in Bashir’s shop immediately after entering. Not that it was necessary, a quick glance around would’ve shown they were all alone, Bashir sitting in the back corner of his shop, solely focused on whatever commission it was that he was working on at the moment. 

“Hello, Garak,” he responded, barely glancing up from his work, which Garak tried hard not to be offended by. 

“You do know, my dear, that your chair is for sitting on, and not your desk, don’t you? Unless, of course, you Starfleet types do things differently.”

This time, Bashir did look up, setting down his stitching and frowning, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t know.”

Garak held up his hand placatingly. “Of course, of course. I always forget which lie you’ll go with on which day. Is today the day you’re going to claim you’ve never been a member of Starfleet, you were exiled for failing to pay your taxes, or some new and exciting combination of both?” He was teasing, of course, and Bashir knew that, huffing dramatically and once again picking up his stitching. 

“You’re insufferable.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, my dear.” He extended his hand, tilting his head. “I do hope you’ll find time in between espionage and sewing to have your lunch with me.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, standing and taking Garak’s hand as if it was something they did every week (it was not, Garak offering his hand had been a bold move and he’d expected it to be cast aside with a scoff), “although we do have to stop by Ops first, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh? Why might that be?” Garak asked.

“I was hoping I’d be able to assassinate the captain before 0100 hours,” he stated, with a completely straight face.

Garak gave a small chuckle at that and shook his head. “Don’t let her hear you saying that, she already wants you locked up to begin with.”

“Surely she can take a joke,” Bashir said, frowning. 

“Not from you.” 

When they reached the Replimat, the line wrapped around what seemed like half the Promenade, and they glanced at each other.

“Quark’s?” Bashir asked, and Garak nodded. 

They didn’t usually frequent Quark’s, Garak because he found the atmosphere to be distinctly lacking in… well, atmosphere, and Bashir because he didn’t seem to get along too well with Quark. Garak was constantly trying to determine why that was, obviously they’d known each other when Quark had been serving drinks for the Federation, but Bashir must’ve had to do something horribly egregious for him to not only refuse to gossip about it, but to detest his presence so much he actively pushed them out as quickly as possible without a care in the world for how much more they might’ve spent on drinks had they been allowed to stay longer.

It likely should be a red flag for Garak, but Bashir had so many red flags waving around him it was hard to keep track anymore. This one sunk, unnoticed, into the background. 

“What?” Bashir asked, seemingly noticing Garak’s uncharacteristic silence as they sat down at the table Quark’s brother had ushered them to. 

“I was contemplating what you possibly could have done to upset Quark so much,” Garak answered honestly, knowing he wouldn’t get a straight answer out of Bashir, but not particularly minding. 

“I’ve told you before, Garak. I cheated at Dabo.”

“And, my dear tailor, as I’ve mentioned in the past, everyone cheats at Dabo. No one else has received so many suspicious looks and been asked to leave before they’ve even paid for their dessert.” 

“I cheated several times.”

“How much money could he _possibly_ have lost?”

“I’m very good at cheating,” Bashir countered, not answering the question.

“Then how did he find out?”

“He didn’t. Someone else did.”

Garak frowned, fairly certain they’d had this exact conversation at some point in the past, but perhaps he hadn’t asked the right questions before. 

“And who was this enigmatic _someone else_?”

“One of my superiors.”

He raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a small smile. “One of your superiors in the tailoring business, I presume.”

Bashir grinned at him widely before responding. “Naturally.” 

Either Julian Bashir was a very good spy, or he simply enjoyed talking Garak in circles for no other reason than it amused him. What concerned Garak about this was that he wasn’t sure which he hoped was true.

He’d long accepted the fact that he had a hopeless crush on Bashir, but he’d also been hoping for nearly as long that it would ebb away quickly, or be overpowered by their friendship. That didn’t happen. If anything, time spent with him only seemed to strengthen Garak’s crush, unfortunately. 

“Tell me, what exactly did this _superior_ of yours find out?” Garak finally asked, trying to steer the conversation somewhere that wouldn’t make him think about his annoying sentimental feelings for a Human.

There was a flash on Bashir’s face, some might call it a microexpression, or a twitch, and it was probably unconscious, he probably hadn’t even noticed he’d done it, but Garak noticed it. Had it been surprise? Discomfort? Perhaps even fear? It had been too quick to tell, but it was the largest hint Garak had ever received as to exactly what had happened to Bashir when the Federation had left Terok Nor. 

He categorized it for analysis later and chose to press on, sure he was onto something. “Surely the Federation doesn’t care so very much about the sanctity of Dabo that they felt compelled to let everyone on the station know you cheated. You can’t possibly expect me to accept that answer.” 

Bashir shrugged, looking casual and relaxed, that split second of being caught off guard was gone, replaced by his usual carefree expression. Garak wondered briefly how much of it was an act. 

“What can I say? The Federation takes gambling very seriously. Would you believe me if I told you that was also the reason I was exiled?” 

Garak scoffed. Of course he didn’t believe that. He didn’t even need to answer to let Bashir know how thoroughly he didn’t believe that. But still… there was something there. That microexpression replayed in his mind as he thought, trying to come up with a way to connect the dots, to string the breadcrumbs together. 

“How did you cheat?” Garak asked, lacing his fingers together, his lunch forgotten on the table in favor of once and for all unraveling all that was Julian.

Julian leaned forward, his eyes twinkling in the low light, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. “You tell me,” he said softly, and then he winked, stood up, and was walking away before Garak could even comprehend what had happened. He was still stuck on the moment where Julian had leaned in so close to him that he could feel his warmth.

“Sorry to cut our lunch short, Garak, but I remembered I have a commission to finish by tonight,” he called, barely glancing behind him as he spoke, not bothering to check if Garak had even heard him.

Garak sat at that table for an indeterminate amount of time. His brain might have short-circuited for a moment, but it was now making up for that lost time rapidly, looping together Julian’s words and cross-referencing them with things he’d said before, things he’d alluded to, the places where he’d lacked words to say, times when he’d given Garak nothing but that endlessly confusing smile.

He added it all up and the end result was something he didn’t know what to do with, a calculation that didn’t seem quite right, perhaps because Garak was afraid of what it meant if it was true, so he’d rather choose to believe it was impossible.

So, he did the only logical thing someone in his position would do. 

He went to Julian’s quarters that night and knocked on the door, although it wasn’t technically that night, more like the early hours of the morning of the next day, but it didn’t matter. Time was a social construct, and Garak couldn’t sleep anyway.

Surprisingly enough, Julian answered his door and stepped out of the doorway, gesturing for Garak to come in. His hair was a mess, his pajama shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and he was wearing a pair of socks with several holes in them. Garak had never wanted to kiss him more than he did at that moment, which was saying something, because Garak nearly always wanted to kiss him. 

“Tell me there’s a good reason for this,” he said, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair, doing nothing to help its tangled, curly mess. 

Garak hesitated, wondering if he should even step inside the room as he was reminded, rather unpleasantly, of what he was doing there, and why he had been unable to sleep to begin with. 

“Garak?” Julian prompted, and Garak could tell he was noting the fact that he still had yet to enter Julian’s quarters, despite the clear invitation he was giving him. 

“I-” Garak began, and he wasn’t usually this ineloquent. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d literally been at a loss for words, the last time he’d truly been scared to speak.

He’d never been afraid of Julian. For all their genocide and colonization and destruction, Humans on their own weren’t frightening. Julian may occasionally allude to terrible things he’d hypothetically done whilst a member of Starfleet, but he was always… Julian. Plain, simple. There was nothing in him to be afraid of; mistrust, of course, but never feared. 

Julian was looking at him in a way that Garak had never seen him look before, and perhaps he was as afraid as Grak was. Afraid that he’d been found out, maybe.

This was ridiculous.

He was still Julian. Nothing had changed in him from the last time they’d seen each other a few hours ago. 

Right?

Garak didn’t even know for sure if his theory was _true._ For all he knew, he’d misread the signs and was completely off-kilter.

He would be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him hoping he was wrong. 

“The Federation is a very traditionalist society,” Garak said, which was not at all what he had come intending to say, but it was a start. At least he was saying something.

Julian quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. He was waiting for Garak to continue, silently challenging him to say what it was he was trying so hard to say and not to say at the same time.

“They don’t take well to their status quo being challenged. They don’t like threats to their normal way of life. So if they found out, somehow, that one of their citizens, someone they already didn’t particularly trust, someone they already knew was a Cardassian sympathizer, was… _different_. Different in a way that was a threat to them. It would be prudent to get rid of them.” Garak stopped talking, the one question he still had remaining unspoken, _why didn’t they kill you and eliminate the threat?_

“I had connections, bribes, blackmail,” Julian said hollowly, answering Garak’s unspoken question. 

“That you traded for exile instead of a death sentence.” 

Julian gave a dry chuckle, turning away and stepping back from the doorway. “Some days I wish I’d taken the death sentence.”

He was still Julian. He hadn’t changed. There was no reason for Garak to be afraid of him, he was still Julian. He stepped through the doorway and let the door slide closed behind him. And if Julian killed him? Well, Garak had always known Julian would be the death of him, so he supposed it really wouldn’t matter when or how it happened.

“I don’t,” he said softly, and Julian looked back at him, his eyes shining in the low light, and Garak didn’t know if his eyes were naturally that shiny, or if he was trying not to cry.

“I’m-” he began, but Garak cut him off.

“Why was the Federation so obsessed with keeping it quiet? What did it matter?” 

“I was one of Starfleet’s top operatives,” Julian said, and Garak found it hard not to say something stupid like, _oh, I thought you were a plain, simple tailor_. “And with all their preaching about… how they were against _everything_ that I am, everything that my parents made me, the fact that I am the way that I am, it was an embarrassment. I was an embarrassment, a failure on their part. That they weren’t able to prevent what was done to me, that they weren’t able to find out what was done to me, my parents hid it too well. I was a weakness, a failure in their perfect system, and they couldn’t let anyone know about it.”

“Julian,” Garak said, and the name felt foreign, he’d never said it before, hadn’t wanted to overstep boundaries, to make him uncomfortable, to give him a hint as to exactly how much Julian meant to him. It was nice to say, all soft edges and rounded notes. “Julian,” he repeated, partially to figure out what he was going to say, but mostly just to savor the way it sounded. “I came here because I was afraid of what it would mean if I was right about what you are, _who_ you are. But I don’t think it changed anything.”

“Didn’t it? You were afraid of me. You didn’t come in right away.” Julian’s eyes followed his movements as he looked away, he could feel them burning against his skin, appraising him, trying to determine his thoughts.

“I was,” Garak said, and it was unusual for him to be this honest. “Can you blame me?”

Julian smiled, part of the way back to his old self that Garak was so used to.

“Absolutely not. I’d be more offended if you weren’t. I could kill you right now.”

“But you haven’t.”

“But I haven’t,” Julian echoed.

“Would you be kind enough to tell me if you’re planning to?” Garak asked, trying to ease back into their usual banter.

“Where would be the fun in that?”

Julian moved, and he moved so fast Garak could barely even comprehend what was happening before he was pinned against the wall, a hand against his throat, not squeezing, but with the threat that it could, and another pressed against his chest.

Julian’s expression hadn’t changed, still that soft smile, one that didn’t at all match up with the fact that he had Garak pinned up against his wall. His pulse was racing, he was sure Julian could feel it in his throat, against his fingertips, his very Human, warmblooded, fingertips. 

“I do believe you’ve proven your point, my dear,” Garak said, the tiniest hint of fear in his voice. 

“Have I?” Julian asked, and Garak wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question or not, but he didn’t answer either way. Julian’s grip on him loosened enough that he could pull away, but he felt no need to. Instead, he leaned forward, trying to get back to that lovely warmth that was Julian. 

The distance between them closed in slow motion, and Julian’s arms wrapped around his back as they kissed. One of Garak’s hands found its way into that tangled, curly, hair, brushing through it as he pushed even further forward, even closer. How exactly this had happened, Garak wasn’t sure, but he certainly wouldn’t complain about this development.

They pulled away, and Julian’s face was warm, more so than usual, his entire body was warm, and Garak wondered briefly if that was normal for Humans, or if it was a result of the warmth of the station.

That reminded him that he’d have to change the environmental controls again. Captain Kira and Dukat were engaged in what would probably be a deadly war of the environmental controls, Dukat consistently raising the temperature past the previously agreed upon limit, and Kira lowering it again, then insisting she’d never touched it. Garak was always the one saddled with resolving the death threats and fixing the temperature, one of the joys of being second in command. 

“Do you trust me?” Julian asked quietly, and Garak knew the answer immediately. _Yes, absolutely, I’d put my life in your hands a thousand times over, I’d spill all my deepest secrets if you asked._

But that wasn’t the right answer, it might be the truth, the truth they both knew, at least, Garak hoped to hell Julian knew, but it wasn’t the right answer. It wasn’t how they played their game, it wasn’t what Garak’s next move was supposed to be.

“Absolutely not,” he said instead, and he knew it was the right thing to say because Julian’s smile grew wider, he leaned in again, and the second kiss was just as good as the first, and Garak tried his best to fill it with all the love he possibly could, he wanted Julian to know. He wanted him to know that no matter what, he’d be there, he’d do anything for him, nothing could ever change that.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt suggested for me on tumblr for my 100 follower prompt celebration  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)  
> [Tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/)


End file.
